


Listen, I didn't even mean to write this, I can't think of a title, too.

by Pippins_Mushr00ms



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Campfires, Fluff and Angst, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Soft Geralt, There was a fight on the road, and it brought some stuff back, bless his emotionally repressed heart, he's a marshmellow, okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23361577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippins_Mushr00ms/pseuds/Pippins_Mushr00ms
Summary: A skirmish on the road leads to a nightmare for Dandelion and a chance for Geralt to show he's not actually made of stone.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	Listen, I didn't even mean to write this, I can't think of a title, too.

They'd had met with an obstacle on the road between towns. They'd not been on the main road, but Geralt heard them long before the bard had, and demanded he get out of sight.

It was a quick skirmish with a ragtag group who smelt of sewant mushrooms and buckthorn, and thought to boost their reputation by adding Geralt's scalp to their belt.

That Geralt thought so little of his fighting skills was-- well, okay, fine, he could use some work. But he wasn't _completely_ hopeless.

The poet had a chance to prove that when one of them jumped out of a tree, startling Pegasus and causing Jaskier to be thrown from the saddle. He twisted midair to land hard on his forearms and knees, thus saving his lute strapped to his back. One numb hand was automatically scrabbling under the case for his knife. Jaskier rolled to his feet to face the smelly bandit, cursing.

His dagger wouldn't come out of his sheath, dammit, instead the whole thing tore free of his belt.

Jaskier had to improvise after that. Something he was usually great at. He got a few good pokes in with his dagger as the thug charged. Sheathed or not, it was still painfully annoying. 

"Geraaalt!" shouted the bard, choking in a headlock, when his method failed miserably.

There was a fist in his hair and the blade of his own dagger was looming ever closer to his precious hairline. He jabbed hard at the man's side with the empty sheath.

A whistle, a grunt and the bandit's body twitched and fell to the road, groaning, with a gash in his forehead. Jaskier quickly snatched his knife up, shoved it back in the sheath and scrambled back, stomach in his throat, scalp aching.

It was over after that and they'd moved on.

Jaskier only threw up once, thank you very much.

Okay, so he was _kind of_ hopeless.

They'd gone on til dark and then a little, Geralt leading, before making camp off in the trees. There, the pair had a quick dinner and bedded down.

* * *

_The warm chains bit into his skin, he'd long since given up trying to hold onto them for support. They'd strung him up properly this time, suspending him so the prisoner's bare toes barely scraped the ground. His wrists and shoulders bore most of his weight unless he could get a grip on the floor with one foot until his calf began to burn horribly and he had to switch. His hands were numb. The whole cycle was incredibly monotonous._

_He was alone, for now. The prisoner glanced around the dim, torch-lit lit dungeon, still dazed. The flames caused shadows that danced, so Dandelion couldn't be sure he was alone, but to his keen musician's ear, it certainly sounded like he was. He started to hum a song, grimacing at the pain in his side as he tried to control his breathing._

_As it turned out, he was not alone._

_The line suspending him suddenly went slack and gravity dragged him mercilessly down towards the hard cobbled stones. His knees struck hard, teeth snapping together. Tasted blood in his mouth. A cruel hand fisted hard in his hair before he could topple over. He cried out finally. The chain rattled against his neck and head, deafening after so long a silence, as it fell from the iron loop and--_

Jaskier jolted awake with a gasp. He found himself lying on his side, staring at the glowing remains of their campfire. The poet focused hard on that. Reality rushed back to him fast enough he let out a silent, shakey whoosh of air.

 _'It was a dream and you ache from the fight,'_ he told himself quickly and sternly.

His eyes flicked first to the grey-almost-pink sky, and then across the coals, to where Geralt relaxed against the trunk of a standing tree. His legs were outstretched and crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest, chin lowered, eyes--

Open. And staring at him.

A white eyebrow quirked up when the bard's eyes met the witcher's.

Jaskier felt his cheeks darken.

Well, fuck.

Ever the performer, Jaskier flashed him a quick grin. He was fine.

Geralt lifted his chin, not even remotely fooled. The bard had been sleeping fitfully all night.

The nightmare was already fading. He could have gone back to sleep. Jaskier sat up anyway, grinding grit out of his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

Unconsciously, he popped the top few buttons on his jacket, and then his sleeves. The poet stopped at once when he felt the familiar scars left by the chains. It all came rushing back and he shivered.

"Bad dream?" Geralt couldn't help himself.

Jaskier blinked in surprise, looking up, but shrugged.

"I suppose. It was... more a memory," the Dandelion sighed.

He pushed his hair, which he found to be sweaty, out of his eyes. The poet winced when he realized his scalp still hurt. 

"Hm?"

"Dungeon, chains, interrogation, etcetera," Jaskier tried to sound aloof, but the effect was ruined by his clenched hands. "But you showed up and gallantly rescued me and here we are, so no problem."

Geralt moved silently as he stood, expression unreadable, and tossed the last of the firewood on the coals.

Instead of sitting back in his spot, he sat down close to his friend. The bard stiffened a little and Geralt simply bumped his shoulder affectionately with his own.

The witcher knew a little about nightmares.

He stared at the little flames starting to lick at the fresh fuel until Jaskier relaxed, gently leaning against him. If he wanted to talk, then Geralt would hear. If not, well, the witcher--

There was a warm weight dropped gently on his shoulder. Slow, even breathing. Geralt looked down, amazed to see the bard was actually sleeping. He looked more peaceful now than he had all night.

Geralt knew what Jaskier dreamed about. He remembered too. Knew what scars he was touching under his constricting doublet sleeves.

The witcher let his bard rest as long as he needed. Cautiously, he put an arm around him, closed his own eyes and turned inward, meditating.

Jaskier woke, slowly, on his side again. His back was warm, a weight on his waist. There was soft, even breathing in his ear. Somehow, Geralt maneuvered them both back to the bed roll without waking the bard. The fire was long cold, and the sun high.

He smiled, and definitely went back to sleep.


End file.
